


Got Milk?

by local_no_tail



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_no_tail/pseuds/local_no_tail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has had a long day painting when Mycroft comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Milk?

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the wonderfully fantastic LadyLilyMalfoy. 
> 
> Fluff, just pure Mystrade fluff. Enjoy. 
> 
> Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes belong to the writers of Sherlock and the BBC.

The smell of paint filled the sultry room. Lestrade took a look around to study his handy work. It was one of the few days he had off, so he had taken it upon himself to catch up with some long-outstanding house repairs. At the moment, he was on task number three - painting the guest bedroom. The paint had been peeling and every time walked past the doorway it nagged at him, so had taken his rare free day to amend that. With a sigh, he stuck the roller back into the paint ready to finish up the west wall when he heard the clink of keys – the familiar sound of Mycroft arriving home from work.

As was his usual after-work routine, Mycroft made a beeline straight for the kitchen - bypassing the guest bedroom completely. Greg smiled and continued working, well aware of Mycroft’s habit of ignoring the rest of the world until he had his after-work cup of tea. He continued to paint the room silently, stopping every now and then to wipe the sweat from his brow, caused by the thick heat of the late summer evening. He began to picture Mycroft standing there in the same position as he did every night as he waited for the kettle to boil; arms crossed leaning back against the counter face scrunched up in contemplation of the previous events at work. Lestrade, lost in thought, forgot about the painting and until a loud voice rung through the house, startling him. 

“Gregory!”

“Umm, yes Mycroft?” Lestrade answered back tentatively, just loud enough for his boyfriend to hear him.

Then it hit him. Shit. He had been so caught up in finishing up this room that he had forgotten to do the one thing Mycroft asked from him that morning - to buy milk. 

He heard Mycroft approaching the room and thought that maybe, if he stood very still, Mycroft wouldn’t see him, that he would just blend right into the walls. With all the paint he managed to cover himself with it, it might work… 

Greg silently watched as Mycroft turned the corner and froze. 

The possibility that it had actually worked crossed Lestrade’s mind for a fraction of a second, then he caught sight of Mycroft’s expression; Instead of the anger he had expected, Mycroft stood there eyes wide mouth very slightly open, just staring at him. His right hand was up by his ear, holding a post-it note with the words scribbled “Buy Milk” on it for Greg to see.

“Yes?” Greg managed to squeak out, trying and failing to feign innocence. 

Mycroft shook his head in apparent disbelief. “You forgot to buy milk, Gregory.”

“I forgot I’ve been kind of busy” he stated, motioning to the half painted room they were occupying. 

Mycroft had brought the post-it note down but resumed his unreadable stare at Greg. 

“Mycroft are you alright? You look a little…” Greg’s voice petered away as Mycroft took two steps towards him with a peculiar expression on his face; it was one Greg was pleasantly familiar with in certain circumstances, but very rarely during a spat. He licked his lips unconsciously, the heat of the room had suddenly, inexplicably, risen to an almost uncomfortable level. Greg fought to urge to fan himself with his t-shirt, waiting instead to be sure of the level of trouble he was in.

“You have a paint on your face,” stated Mycroft - voice dropping down to barely above a whisper, his breath now came heavier his eyes became fixed on the little blotch of white paint on Greg’s temple. 

“Fantastic observation.,” Greg chuckled with relief, now finally understanding Mycroft’s expression. Still looking up at the other man, Greg breached the final feet between them. 

“Is something bothering you Mr. Holmes?” he teased softly. 

Ignoring Greg’s question Mycroft leant in to place a gentle kiss a top the paint splotch. 

Greg closed his eyes at the contact, his hand slipping down to rest at the nape of Mycroft’s neck.

“Gregory,” Mycroft started, voice taking on a delightfully husky finish, barely audible as his lips mumbled against Lestrade’s forehead. “You cannot do this to me. You cannot stand in such rugged disarray, wearing that outfit and covered in paint. It is entirely unfair and more below the belt than can possibly be allowed.

Gregory brought his hands down, instinctively reaching for Mycroft’s belt loops and hooking them with his fingers, pulling him closer. There remained less than an inch between them and Greg opened up his eyes again to look into those of his boyfriend. He brought his lips up to gently press against the other man’s jaw with a whispered, “Sorry I forgot the milk.”

With that Mycroft wrapped his arms around Gregory’s neck, bringing their lips together in silent forgiveness. 

Greg moaned into the kiss, letting Mycroft take complete control. Greg reluctantly pulled back when the need to breathe became too strong. 

Mycroft smiled, “I think the milk can wait until tomorrow.”


End file.
